


bruised and beaten (but i'm okay)

by Livinei



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man/Deadpool - Joe Kelly (Comics)
Genre: Identity Reveal, M/M, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Worries A Lot, also peter is an adult hes like in his 20s ok, and i live for it, i dont know I'll add tags when i think of them, peter and tony have a father-son relationship yall, this isn't tom hollands spiderman it's just. a spiderman. comic spiderman if anything.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 15:26:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16287110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livinei/pseuds/Livinei
Summary: Spider-Man gets hurt, and Wade Wilson isn't completely unreasonable, thank you very much. This is why he's making sure his favourite wall-crawler doesn't go running off with his body as undamaged as a barbie doll in the hands of a very excited toddler.





	bruised and beaten (but i'm okay)

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY so!  
> I'll start off by saying this is NOT MCU Spider-Man, okay, I took some elements that I liked from Homecoming such as Pete's Stark-tech suit and maybe some more, Tony is still Peter's mentor slash father figure and all because I fucking adore that dynamic, but it's not Tom Holland's Spider-Man. It's a young adult Peter Parker in his early to mid-twenties or smth like that and I was actually thinking about the Spider-Man/Deadpool comics Spider-Man more than anything else (and it's not completely that SM either). It's just a Spider-Man.  
> Anyways, this is my first time attempting to write Deadpool so forgive me if anything's off pitch, I did my best :D  
> Comments are appreciated bcs I just love hearing what you guys think, but even if you don't do that, thanks so much for taking your time to read anyways!!!!! <3

"As much as I'm loving the vibe in here, we should probably get out," Deadpool shouts at him from the other side of the warehouse, and for once, Peter couldn't agree with him more. There is fire everywhere, rubble is falling from the ceiling from the explosion that just rippled through the building, and it just generally doesn’t give Peter a very cozy feeling, there is just one tiny problem.

"Sounds great," he grunts, biting back a scream of pain as he tries to push himself up and his vision flashes white, a blinding hot pain tearing through his right arm. He didn’t need to see the slightly unnatural shape of his arm to know it was broken, his extremely disturbed  nerve endings spoke for themselves. That, and the loud _crack!_ the arm had made about five minutes ago when Peter had been - quite rudely if he might say- slammed into a wall by a blast from an alien gun gone haywire had been a pretty obvious tell. He could swing despite the gashes and the blood loss, the bruise he could feel forming on his chin, and even the exhaustion of having gotten three hours of sleep total in the last two days - no matter what Tony Stark or May would say about it - but a broken arm is somewhat of a problem.

Deadpool is kneeling down in front of him, and Peter doesn’t remember him coming across the room at all, so _okay_ , maybe the sleep deprivation could become a little bit of an issue as well but he had more pressing matters right now. Wade takes a look at Spider-Man and Peter can hear him hum.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say you’re not swinging anywhere with that, Webs. And I don’t think we have enough time to wait,” he says, exaggeratedly looking around the flaming room and tapping on Peter’s wrist.

Honestly, Peter would find the fact that he can’t find it in himself to answer to the jokes with something witty, concerning, but he’s too tired and in too much pain and so completely _done_ with this evening to pay it any mind, so he settles for an incomprehensible grumble, taking off his web-shooters and handing them to Wade who slips them on and scoops Peter up. Deadpool leaves the responsibility of clinging onto him to Peter, as he swings them both out of the slowly collapsing building.

As soon as they’re outside, Peter draws in a deep breath and lets go, unceremoniously dropping to the ground and almost falling on his injured arm, were it not for Deadpool’s hands suddenly gripping his shoulders.

“My arm,” Peter says once he regains his sense of coordination, and feels Wade get down to his level once again, “you need to snap it back into place.”

Wade leans back, sitting on his heels, and upon closer inspection Peter can see his red suit wet with what can be only blood. Of course, being shot or slashed at doesn’t make much of a difference to Wade. However, that doesn’t mean Peter has to enjoy the sight. Though, he supposes, he’s not exactly one to talk right now.

“Oof, that’s not gonna be fun for you,” Wade says, clicking his tongue, “Not to be responsible or anything, but how about we call the Iron Giant right about now? Get ya some real healthcare, you know?” Wade replies, and even though he’s made no move to do anything, Peter violently shakes his head and grabs the other’s wrist without really meaning to.

“Absolutely not. Tony’s just going to worry and… This,” he nods to his arm, cringing once more at seeing it, and lets go of Wade’s wrist, “isn’t that big of a deal, it’s gonna heal. Which is precisely why you need to snap it into place before it heals wrong.”

Truth be told, his healing factor isn’t _that_ fast. He has plenty of time to get to the Stark Tower or to a hospital before the bone starts to mend itself (and then the broken limb is still going to be a nuisance for days afterwards - he’s been through this before) but he doesn’t plan on doing either of those things, and eventually the bone would have to be set into place anyways, so he might as well get it over with right now.

“ _Alllll_ -right. Your wish is my command, baby boy,” Deadpool shrugs, and, without warning, takes hold of Peter’s arm and-

Once Peter’s done screaming and Wade gets his arm back from the death grip it had been locked in - again - Wade rises up and dusts off his knees, whistling cheerfully and tilting his head in an observing manner, but even though Peter can’t see his face, quite some time of this very reluctant and very unexpected _friendship_ (he’s still not sure how _that_ came to be but here they are) has taught him to recognize that there’s more worry than the other man is letting on. Peter stands up as well and sways on his feet, and Wade puts a steadying hand on his good elbow.

It’s something Peter has learned over time: Wade can be incredibly egotistical, but he can also be amazingly considerate. And scarily observant.

“So here’s a plan: I’m taking you to my place and you’re gonna get some Sponge-Bob band-aids on you and then catch a few Z-s. We can order take-out and watch _Peppa Pig_ or something like besties do, it’ll be fun!”

“Thanks but seriously, I’m fine, I’ll just go home and-”

This time, when Deadpool interrupts him, there’s a slightly more serious edge to his voice, and Peter doesn’t know what to think. He still never knows what he’s feeling or what he _should_ feel when Wade is being caring or genuine, and it’s not something he wants to think about. He doesn’t trust himself to not come up with something _ridiculous_ like- no. It’s better to not know what he feels.

“Listen, Webs. You’re several kinds of messed up, it’s not just your arm. You’re either getting help from the Dad Man or you’re coming with me, take your pick.”

“Fine,” Peter huffs.

 

“We gotta get the suit off,” Wade carefully says as he sets Peter down on the sofa. And Peter, with a tired kind of wonder, realizes that he doesn’t really care.

He gives an acknowledging hum and touches the spider symbol on his chest, making the suit around him loosen, and starts wiggling out of the spandex. He’s managed to get his good arm free when Wade returns with a box of medical supplies.

“Need a hand?” he quips, and Peter can practically _hear_ the grin on his face.

“An arm, actually, but I’ll settle for some help,” he retorts, and the merc helps him get out of the suit. His hands are gentle, Peter notices.

“Not that it’s not fun and all, but we maybe gotta stop biting off more than we can chew.”

“Oh c’mon, you love it,” Peter laughs, to cover up the hiss he makes at having his bad arm accidentally jostled.

“Sure,” Wade replies, and there’s a smile in his voice but otherwise his tone is indecipherable, “but not when _you_ get hurt.”

Peter finds that he has no words to reply to that.

Despite Peter still insisting he’s _fine, Wade, seriously,_ it takes a while to get all the deeper wounds patched up. They’ll probably be fine after, like, a day, Peter thinks, but right now they’re still bleeding because the healing factor is a little compromised from his lack of sleep, and Peter doesn’t think he wants to know just how much gauge is wrapped around his person at this very moment.

He watches as Wade wraps up the last gash, one on his left thigh, and then leaves saying something about bringing him something to wear.

Which reminds Peter of that strange thing. That thing where he’s pretty sure that being on Deadpool’s couch wearing nothing except for a pair of boxers and his mask should make him at least moderately uncomfortable, feeling way too exposed, and instead he’s somehow just… not. It's almost unnerving for a moment.

Peter pushes himself into a sitting position and rubs his arms in a half-hearted attempt to warm himself. Spiders don't thermoregulate, which means that Peter’s almost constantly cold ass is incredibly glad when Wade comes back and tosses him some clothes.

“Really, a Spider-Man shirt?” he deadpans when he sees the logo on the shirt the merc has chosen. Wade grins.

“You gotta stay on brand, Webs,” he replies in a singsong voice, and Peter fails to hold back a snicker, hoping Wade didn't hear. Based on the smug expression he can practically _sense_ on the other man's face even despite the mask, he has no such luck. There's a certain aura that arises around Wade when he's smug. Honestly, Peter would say he has understanding Wade down to a science at this point. Not always. But most of the time.

He pulls on the sweatpants and the red shirt, throws a warm maroon jacket over his shoulders - more of a Deadpool color than Spider-Man, he thinks. Peter isn’t a huge guy, he’s perfectly _average-sized, thank you very much_ , and that means Wade is slightly taller than him, as well as wider. Which, in turn, means that the clothes are a little too big for him, but they’re also surprisingly comfortable.

Peter pushes himself up from the couch and suddenly he’s not sure what to do. Wade brought him here to get him fixed up, but now that this is done? He should go home now, right?

“Uh, well,” he starts, hesitant, and Wade turns to look at him, “Thank you for, um, you know- helping me and all, but I guess I should-”

He’s not sure why this is suddenly making him feel so awkward, but he’s tripping over his words and he’s almost glad when Wade cuts him off, weirdly softly this time.

“ _I_ think you should pass out for a little while. No offense, Webs, but you look like you’re weeks overdue for a nap. You’re practically falling over where you stand. Mr Tin Butt _will_ find a way to end me for good if I let you walk out of here like that.”

Peter wants to argue, but before he can open his mouth to say anything there’s a hand on his back steering him into Wade’s bedroom, and all fight leaves him. He _is_ tired. And Wade’s bed is soft as fuck.

Peter curls up underneath the blankets and vaguely registers Wade saying something before leaving the room, but it doesn’t reach his mind. The bed smells like Wade, and Peter is warm, and he’s itching to take his mask off because he’s been wearing it for hours and he wants to feel air on his face, but a voice in his mind reminds him that then Deadpool might see his face. _And so what if he sees?_ another voice in the back of his mind whispers, taking traitorous advantage of Peter’s sleep-deprived state, and Peter decides that this voice makes a very good point. He falls asleep before he can make a decision.

 

He’s still sleepy when he wakes up, and it takes a moment for everything to come back to him. Peter seriously considers just closing his eyes again and tricking himself into thinking he never woke up, but now he’s also hungry, and his supersenses, ever so helpfully, pick up a smell of food in the living room, so he decisively untangles himself from the blankets and shuffles out of the bedroom.

Wade is in the living room, out of his suit and wearing normal clothes. He looks up when Peter enters.

“Morning, sweetums!” Wade cooes when Peter makes his way over, and kicks his legs off the couch to make room. A quick look at the clock supplied it’s, in fact, 11:30pm. Wade nods over to the coffee table where two still-hot boxes of Italian food lay.

“I ordered takeout, so feel free to get munching. Also, your phone was going nuts while you were sleeping.”

What? Slightly confused and a little anxious, Peter goes to pick up his phone, and has barely any time to see 6 missed calls from May before the device in his hand starts vibrating and a caller ID pops up on his screen.

_Incoming call: Tony Stark._

Peter’s blood runs cold, and he swears lightly under his breath, earning a curious look from Wade.

He totally forgot he was supposed to go to May’s for dinner at 8 tonight. Obviously, that plan went out the window. And he didn’t call to cancel, and he hasn’t answered his phone for three and a half hours… Peter can guess why Tony’s calling. With a sigh, he answers the phone.

“Uh, hey, Tony,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck.

 _“Oh, would you look at that! Good evening,_ Mr Parker _,”_ the familiar voice responds, its exaggerated cheerfulness dripping with sarcasm.

 _“I’m not sure if I should be honoured that you picked up_ my _call or not. Anyways, care to explain why I got a call from your near-hysterical Aunt half an hour before midnight telling me you might as well have dropped off from the face of the Earth, can’t be reached and no one knows where you are? You have a phone to use it, Pete. You know, communication and all that. There’s a button on the side of your phone that switches it on, and then you select the contact log-”_

“I know, I know, I’m sorry! Nothing happened, I was just- er, I got caught up in Spider-Man stuff and I forgot about the dinner plans with May, and then I was so tired that I was just out cold like a lightbulb for a few hours. I just now saw that May had called.”

Tony’s voice changes into something concerned.

_“I’ve heard “nothing happened” before and coming from you it’s most definitely not nothing. What’d you get up to, kid?”_

“Nothing! Just got a little roughed up is all, nothing serious, I swear.”

A sigh.

_“Peter.”_

“Look, really, it’s fine. I’m fine, I’m almost healed anyways.” Not exactly true, but he’s getting there, so what difference does it make, right? Besides, Peter is _really_ aching to get over with this call so he can get to the Italian food already.

“If it was anything life-threatening I would have called you, Tony, stop worrying. I just decided to,” he takes a quick look at Wade on the couch, who looks entirely uninterested in the phone conversation and is focused on some sort of cartoon where a deer is getting its teeth pulled out, “crash at a friend’s place.”

_“Wanna try again? May called your friends. Ned said you aren’t home and MJ hasn’t heard from you either.”_

“I have a third friend!” Peter exclaims, feeling like he should be offended. Wade looks up at him, and his face takes on a shit-eating grin. Peter rolls his eyes, even though Wade can’t see it.

_“Oh? Do tell.”_

“Does it matter?”

 _“Yeah, because for some reason FRIDAY is telling me that you’re not wearing your suit but you_ are _wearing your mask - and before you get to complaining about me babying you or whatever: I was just trying to check your vitals, we_ both _know that I can’t trust anything out of your mouth that’s regarding your health. Anyways. Has got to be one hell of a friend if you’re blowing your secret for ‘em.”_

“Not really though. He knows about Spider-Man, but not about…well, uh, me.”

_“Okay, just get to the point, Pete. Who’s picking up pieces of my kid when said kid is too stubborn to get help from his family?”_

Part of Peter is feeling warm and loved at the phrasing of the question. The other part is worried because he really doesn’t think Tony’s going to like the answer. Both parts are hungry, and telling the truth might make the conversation longer. But he knows Tony has means to find it out anyways - though he isn’t absolutely certain the man would use them, not for now at least - and it’s not like he particularly wants to lie.

“Um. Wade Wilson?”

There’s a silence. Peter doesn’t think that’s a good sign.

 _“Excuse me? Wade Wilson? As in Deadpool? You’re at_ Deadpool’s _house?”_ Tony finally speaks, and he doesn’t sound happy or impressed. He sounds alarmed, to put it very mildly.

“Technically, it’s an apartment,” Peter mumbles, shifting his weight from one leg to another.

_“Please tell me you’re kidding.”_

Peter decides not to answer. Tony doesn’t wait for it.

_“Parker, get your ass out of there right now, I mean it. Christ, kid, I don’t have to tell you all the reasons why this is a very bad, very unsafe idea-”_

Peter can vividly picture the conversation that he knows is about to arise and he’s _not_ excited about that, so he rushes to nip it in the bud and hope he manages to convince Tony.

“Tony, calm down. Listen to me. I’m not fifteen anymore, I am actually able to look after myself, you know. I’m not stupid - well, not _completely_ stupid. I wouldn’t be here if I thought I was in danger, would I? If I hadn’t believed I was safe, I would have called you instead then,  I wouldn’t have gone with him. You know that. You don’t have to trust Deadpool, I’m not asking you to, but I trust him. You just trust _me_.”

 _“I do, kid. Of course I do. But believing in people is kind of your thing, isn’t it? And I admire you for it, I really do, but sometimes you’re too trusting for your own good. People aren’t always what they seem to be, Pete, people take advantage and stab you in the back. And people like Deadpool? He may not be our_ enemy _but he’s certainly dangerous, and no one you should have sleepovers with. I do trust you, but how do you know_ you _can trust him?”_

Peter pauses for a moment and locks eyes with Wade, who’s looked at him during the whole time.

“I just do. Okay? Like I said, please trust me on this. Please. No coming in here repulsors-blasting or anything.”

He can hear a long sigh.

_“I don’t like this.”_

“I know you don’t.”

 _“The_ second _he says or does anything even remotely alarming, makes a sudden movement, hell, even looks at you wrong, you’re_ out of there _and calling me, stat. Promise me.”_

The corner of Peter’s mouth twitches and he looks at Wade again, watching as the merc feigns an offended gasp when he hears Peter answer.

“I promise that if Deadpool as much as looks at me wrong, I will get out and call you.”

_“Okay. Alright. Just- Be careful, yeah? And call May back.”_

“Yeah, I will. Have a good night, Tony!”

_“You made sure that I won’t. Be safe, kid.”_

Tony hangs up, and Peter makes another call to his Aunt, who nearly cries in relief when she hears he’s alive and well and not dying in a ditch somewhere, and then Peter can finally eat.

He plops down next to Wade on the couch, who grins at him and hands him a fork.

“Damn, baby boy. Gotta love family, right?” he says, poking Peter in the side, “Are you sure you're a legal adult?”

“Last I checked, yeah. I’m not sure they realize it though,” Peter responds, bringing up his hand to lift the mask up to his nose, when he’s suddenly hit with The Thought again, and he hesitates.

Peter stares at his hand, lost in his mind.

_And so what if he sees?_

_I trust him._

The urge to take his mask off creeps up his spine and refuses to leave him alone, and Peter realizes he…doesn’t care. Well, he _cares_ , but he doesn’t _mind_. The idea of showing Wade his face doesn't scare him as it once used to.

“Webs? You ok?” Wade asks, a curious frown on his face. Peter snaps back into reality, and his shoulders sag.

“Yeah,” he replies, but instead of pulling the mask over his nose he grips it at the back of his head and pulls it off over his head. Completely off.

Wade freezes.

He doesn't say anything for a good thirty seconds, just keeps staring at Peter, and Peter grows somewhat anxious, so he simply picks up his food and starts eating. On another note, he supposes he can finally tell others with pride that he has managed the impossible feat of striking Wade Wilson speechless.

Peter inhales half of his Italian food before speaking up with a small slip of a grin.

“You’re staring. Do I need to get out and call Tony?”

“You, uh,” Wade starts after a long silence, still looking baffled, and his eyes are roaming Peter’s face, “you realize you took your mask off, right?”

“I do, yeah.”

“Okay, cool, cool, cool, just checking,” Wade nods, his gaze still never leaving Peter, but his face takes on a little smile. It’s not as assertive as it normally would be, but Peter can tell Wade is trying to gather his composure.

“Well, you sure know how to woo a guy, Webs. I mean, not gonna lie, that face is like, _criminally_ cute, holy shit, a sight for sore eyes, and I get that things like easing into it or warning a guy are overrated and all, you totally got the shock factor on your side-”

“Peter,” Peter says and Wade halts his speech.

“Huh?”

“My name,” Peter elaborates, and the merc’s face shifts into that of confused amazement, “my name’s Peter.”

“Okay,” Wade breathes out, and tilts his head, “Don’t get me wrong, Petey, I’m loving this whole thing but what brought this on? Why now? The secret identity biz has always been like your number one thing.”

Peter shrugs, feeling the exhaustion seep back into his bones now that he’s eaten.

“It’s not like nobody knows, some people do. Tony, some of the other Avengers, my Aunt, two of my friends. People I know I can trust and feel comfortable with. I just felt like showing you, I guess. You were going to see my face sooner or later anyways, so…”

“I _was_?!”

Peter doesn’t like the surprise in Wade’s voice.

“Yeah, of course. Obviously I didn’t think that when I first met you but, you know. Over time. I don’t feel like I need to protect myself or my identity from you, or you from me, anymore. I wasn’t lying to Tony about that over the phone, I _do_ trust you. A lot more than I trust most people.”

“Aw jeez, baby, I don’t know to respond to sincere sappy shit like this,” Wade sighs, but he notices Peter’s drooping eyelids, and shifts himself so Peter’s slowly staggering figure leans against his side, “nor do I understand why you’d ever trust me this much but, uh. I’m glad.”

Peter’s eyes fall shut but he smiles.

“Just out of curiosity, so Stark said I can’t _look_ at you wrong, but did he mention anything about _thinking_?”

A whiff of laughter echoes through the living room.

“Shut up, Wade.”


End file.
